


Please Help Me, I'm Falling

by FaustianSlip



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode V: Empire Strikes Back, Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-10 05:03:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5572042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaustianSlip/pseuds/FaustianSlip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first, it almost seems like Han might be completely fine. He's badly weakened by the freezing, of course, and still waiting for his eyesight to return, but by the time Luke’s rescue had actually been in progress, he’d been well enough to make jokes and try to help- well, as much as he could help, given that the most he could see were nondescript blurs moving around him. Leia had started to convince herself that they would be fine, or as “fine” as they ever got, so long as they could get away from Jabba, she could get that disgusting outfit off, and Han could lie down and rest somewhere.</p><p>She wants to laugh at her own, uncharacteristic optimism now. It seems almost quaint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have to admit that I never would have bet on my first submission to AO3 being a Star Wars fic. I've been a die-hard Trekkie (Trekker? What are we even calling ourselves these days, anyway?) since childhood, but Star Wars never did much for me. Then I saw The Force Awakens, and I found myself going back to rewatch the original trilogy for the first time in about fifteen years and was riveted by the Han/Leia relationship, and here we are. Feedback is incredibly welcome, as I'm brand new to writing these characters and this universe.
> 
> I'm not entirely sure how far I'll take this story or where it's headed, as it's still in progress, but I anticipate that it will be a couple of chapters, at least.

 

At first, it almost seems like Han might be completely fine. He's badly weakened by the freezing, of course, and still waiting for his eyesight to return, but by the time Luke’s rescue had actually been in progress, he’d been well enough to make jokes and try to help- well, as much as he _could_  help, given that the most he could see were nondescript blurs moving around him. Leia had started to convince herself that they would be fine, or as “fine” as they ever got, so long as they could get away from Jabba, she could get that disgusting outfit off, and Han could lie down and rest somewhere.

She wants to laugh at her own, uncharacteristic optimism now. It seems almost quaint. 

Everything had gone according to plan at first, or as according to plan as anything went for them. With Luke jetting off to Dagoba, the rest of them had limped their way back to the Millennium Falcon, Lando laying in a course for Sullust as Leia guided Han back to his bunk, despite his strenuous protests. 

“Look, your worship, this is flattering, you not wanting to leave my side and all, but I’m _fine_. Lando shouldn’t be piloting my ship- I can rest later…."

Leia doesn't have the heart to point out his obvious loss of eyesight, the words belayed in part by a superstitious terror that if she highlights it, it might become permanent, somehow. Instead she settles for, “Han, it won’t help anyone if you drop dead from hibernation sickness. Come back and get a shower at least.” She already has an arm slipped around his back, supporting him such as she can, given their difference in height. Leia consciously forces herself not to think about the way he trembles under her touch, how she doesn't feel the same warmth coming off of him that she always had before. _It’s the hibernation sickness,_  she tells herself firmly. _He’ll come out of it._

For his part, Han knows full well that it's absurd of him to think that he’d be of any use in the cockpit whatsoever, given that he’s still shaking uncontrollably, feels like his chest is caving in on itself and can't actually see anything beyond moving, blurred shapes in the cockpit that he takes to be Chewie and Lando, but he can’t help himself. It's reflexive, his insistence on doing things _himself_ , borne out of decades of having no one else to rely on, but all of the stubbornness in the world wasn’t going to help this time. And really, he supposes his protestations would be more convincing if he didn’t sound quite so half-dead.

He finally allows Leia to lead him back to his quarters, grumbling under his breath about how he's an adult, for crying out loud, not some youngling that can't take care of himself. Leia isn't having it, though. “C’mon, flyboy, let’s get you cleaned up.” Han can hear the tension in her voice, though her touch is still gentle- he wonders what she’s keeping from him, because whatever that note is that he hears in her voice, it’s more than just worry.

Inside his quarters, Han cautiously walks in the direction of where he expects his bed to be, tentative without his eyesight despite the fact that he knows the room like the back of his hand. Hands held slightly out in front of him, the certainty that he looks like an idiot keeps him from turning into a full-blown blind person stereotype as he squints, trying to sort out the blurry, indistinct shapes in front of him and find a place to sit and at least take off his boots. When he gets to where he thinks the bed is supposed to be, he reaches for it, intending to sit, but he’s misjudged the distance and almost falls on his face before Leia’s hand closes around his arm, steadying him as he curses under his breath. “Kriffing hell…."

“It’s okay to have some help, you know,” Leia offers. “You don’t have to do it all yourself, Han.” He hears that… _sound_  in her voice again, the one he heard before, and he turns toward her even as he lets her guide him to the bed to sit down.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, hating the way his voice still sounds, all wrung out and shaky.

“What, besides the part where you’re sick, came out of carbonite a matter of hours ago and can’t see?” That makes him flush, but Han knows Leia well enough by now to know when she’s deflecting, and he isn’t going to let it go, not this time.

“Leia,” he says quietly, reaching for the blur that he thinks is her, “just tell m-” He cuts himself off with a low noise of surprise when his hands make contact with her and find bare skin instead of the bounty hunting gear she was wearing earlier. “Leia, what…?” But even as he’s speaking, Han’s brain is racing three, four, five steps ahead, filling in blanks. He’s known Jabba a long time, knows what kind of things happen to women at his palace and on his sail barge, and while he had tried to block those thoughts from his mind during the escape and just focus on getting the hell out of there, he now finds himself confronted with something that can’t be ignored. Leia pulls away, but not before Han feels metal at her waist, and his breath quickens as he stares at some approximation of where he thinks her face is, trying unsuccessfully to school the horror from his expression.

“What happened?” he asks hoarsely, having to force the words out. “Leia, what did he….” He can’t even finish the sentence. _He didn’t,_  he tells himself, trying to tamp down the panic threatening to choke him. _We weren’t there long enough. He didn’t._  But he knows full well that they’d been trapped in that palace plenty long enough, thinks back to the way Jabba had him pulled away from Leia almost as soon as they’d been discovered, thrown him in that cell and left him there while they…. Han has to fight the urge to retch.

“It doesn’t matter,” Leia responds quickly- too quickly- her voice taut, though when he reaches for her, she relents and lets him pull her between his knees, leaning into him. “Nothing that I couldn’t handle."

“It _does_  matter,” Han shoots back, feeling nauseous. “It- he-” And here Han, a man who’s not sure he’s ever been at a loss for words in his life, is fumbling for something, anything to say. What ends up coming out is, “I’m sorry, Leia. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not- Han, it’s not your fault! Sometimes things… don’t go the way we planned."

A humorless smile crosses Han’s face. “Sometimes?"

An equally humorless snort. “All right, most of the time."

Han wishes he could see her face, try and read what's going on in her head, but he can't, so he runs his hands up and down Leia’s bare arms, trying to collect himself, but it’s not working very well. He’s been tamping everything down deep ever since he woke up, refusing to start trying to process any of it for fear that it would turn him into a gibbering idiot, but this… he knows that this might send him over the edge. He tries to focus on the way she feels, the way she smells- the clean, floral scent of the soap she usually uses mixed with sweat and dirt from being in desert of Tatooine, rather than the way his insides are twisted up in knots as he struggles to keep from thinking of what might have happened with Jabba. 

For her part, Leia brushes a hand over his cheek, needing to feel him, reassure herself that he’s actually there with her. She wishes she could smooth away the lines of worry that crease his face, knowing full well that he’s not buying her insistence that she’s just dandy any more than she does his. “I’m all right, Han,” she offers again, supposing her words might be more convincing if they were true. She wasn’t all right, really; she felt shaky and terrified that she might awake to find that this was all a dream, that they hadn’t escaped Jabba’s palace after all, or that Han was still lightyears away, trapped in that carbonite forever. The thought of it is enough to leave her feeling shaken, and she leans down to kiss him, needing to reassure herself that this is real, and he’s there with her.

The warmth of the kiss burns Han’s lips, sending a shiver through him, but he sinks into it anyway, returning it as much as he can, as desperate for reassurance as Leia is that this is actually happening. They start off tentative, but that doesn’t last, both deepening the kiss, needing more. Han’s hand slides from Leia’s arm up to her collarbone, a thumb skimming along it before he starts to move higher, aiming for the nape of her neck and intending to tangle his fingers in her hair… until he encounters the collar. 

Han jerks out of the kiss with an uncomprehending sound, thinking that it can’t possibly be what he thinks it is, but he knows he’s being foolish. He’s been to Jabba’s palace, he’s seen what he does to women there, and now it’s _Leia_ , and he can feel the bile burning at the back of his throat as he struggles to keep it down. “Leia, what happened down there?” There’s a part of him that really, really doesn’t want to know, but he has to ask, he understands that, even as he feels Leia go rigid at this latest discovery.

“Han-"

“Leia, _please_.” He’s fighting to keep his voice calm, but it’s not working very well- he can hear for himself how badly it shakes when he speaks. “He didn’t- did he…?” Han can’t make himself say the words aloud, but it’s clear enough what he’s asking her.

Leia dips her head to rest her forehead on his shoulder, and there’s a long moment of silence before she murmurs, “No. He didn’t.” She can feel Han go almost boneless with relief, and he lets out a long breath, though she doesn’t miss the way he winces as he exhales. “We need to get you some painkillers and a shower,” she tells him softly, blinking when he shakes his head.

“No- first we need to get that- that _thing_  off of you."

“What? That can wait.” He’s a wreck, physically, trembling and in obvious pain, and he needs to rest. That’s all Leia really cares about- she has no idea what she’s supposed to do for hibernation sickness. It’s so rare that no one really knows- in most of the recorded instances of humans being frozen in carbonite that she could find, the process killed them. The ones that didn’t die then died almost immediately upon unfreezing. The thought makes her clutch at Han, terrified that maybe he’s not out of the woods, that what Vader did could still claim his life, and she doubts that even more emotional turmoil is likely to help anything. Leia hasn’t dared reveal to him that it’s been nearly a year since he was frozen, a year that they’d been hunting for him, trying to find a way to get into Jabba’s palace and help him.

“No. No, no, no, it can’t. It can’t wait.” Han’s voice hitches badly as he says that, repulsed that he has to say it at all.

“Han. I’m _fine_. Humiliated, dirty and smelling truly awful, but physically, I’m fine. Please, just- just let me take care of you, all right?” She doesn't wait for an answer, instead asking, “Can you stand up and make it to the ‘fresher?”

“I don’t know.” Han suspects that even if he’s able to stand, the odds of getting all the way to the ‘fresher and making it through a shower without collapsing into a heap aren’t great, but he doesn’t want to admit it. It doesn’t matter, though, because Leia has his number, just like she always has.

“Okay, here- let me help.” She’s tugging at him, trying to help him up, which is both laughable, given their size difference, and something that leaves Han feeling strangely choked up. They came so close to losing this.

“Wait- just wait a second, Leia.” Han suspects that if he doesn’t get his boots off now, while he’s sitting, he’ll either wind up wearing them in the shower or tripping over himself trying to get them off. Fumbling a bit, he manages to strip off his boots and socks, then slowly, painfully stands, swaying slightly as he does so and feeling dizzy. Leia’s arm is back around his waist, and she gently guides him toward the ‘fresher, murmuring that he should take his time- they’ve got a day and a half to Sullust, so there’s no reason for him to rush.

Han wants to laugh at that, given that he doubts he could “rush” if he wanted to, and he actually manages a hoarse chuckle before it cuts off abruptly and he winces. “I think my ribs are broken,” he mumbles, the confession drawing a disapproving noise from Leia. 

“Bespin,” is all she says in reply, but it’s enough to make Han shudder. He never wants to think of that place again if he can possibly help it, though given that the man who handed him over to Darth Vader to be tortured and frozen in carbonite is currently piloting the ship, that might be easier said than done.

Once they’re by the ‘fresher, Leia takes his hand and guides it to the doorframe before starting to tug at his shirt. Han tries for levity, says, "I'm flattered, Princess, but I really don't think I have it in me right now," but he sounds like a shadow of himself, and he doesn't need to be able to see to know that Leia's rolling her eyes as she pulls his shirt off over his head, but then he hears a low gasp, and he freezes, going rigid and trying to think of what could have pulled that kind of a reaction from her.  

"What?" he demands, hating the panicky edge to his voice. "Leia, what is it?"

Leia can only stand there, Han's shirt dangling from her nerveless fingers as she stares at his body. His rib cage is mottled with dark bruises, and she can see angry welts and burns trailing over his chest. For one wild moment, Leia considers telling him that everything's fine, just fine, and he shouldn't worry, but she knows full well that she can't. It hadn't occurred to her that with none of his injuries healed before the carbonite freezing, he'd come out looking like Darth Vader had just tortured him yesterday. "I- Han, it...." She fumbles unsuccessfully for the right words, knowing full well that there are no "right words" for something like this. Seeing that Han is growing increasingly panicked with each second of silence that passes, she finally manages to say, “You- there are bruises from the security guards at Bespin. And- and some burn marks, from…."

“The scan grid,” Han finishes, and Leia can feel the way he trembles under her hands.

“Yeah.” She doesn’t know what to say, so she says the only thing that really makes sense: “I’m so sorry, Han.” Leia has spent the past year replaying every last moment of their time together in agonizing detail, torturing herself with the realization that if Han hadn’t caved on his plans to pay off Jabba and stayed with her, with the Rebellion, he likely wouldn’t have ended up frozen in carbonite in the first place, since there wouldn’t have been a price on his head. She’d thought about it every single night, sleeping in his- well, their- bunk on the Millennium Falcon, as often as not in one of his shirts. It haunted her, and seeing the very real, very physical consequences of his decision to stay only intensified her feelings of guilt.

Even without his sight, Han shoots her an incredulous look. “What? Leia, it’s not your-"

“Isn’t it?” She cuts him off impatiently. “You told me, Han. You _told_  me about that death mark Jabba had put on you, about that price on your head, and I just… ignored it. I badgered you into staying, and you-"

“I’m a grown man, Leia. I made a decision to stay. That’s not your fault!” Han is appalled that she's trying to take the blame for this. “It was Vader who did this to me- to _us_ , and no one else. Well, except Jabba, maybe.” He deliberately leaves out Lando, unable to cope with facing up to that particular betrayal, at least at the moment.

Leia is relieved that Han can’t see the expression on her face, because she knows that she looks singularly unconvinced. As relieved as she is that he doesn’t hate her for all of this, at least not at the moment, she knows full well that her role in what happened to him isn’t something she can shrug off nearly as easily. She believes in taking responsibility for her mistakes, as a general rule, but she doesn’t know how she’s supposed to go about making this up to him, especially when he won’t concede, at least at the moment, that she shares any blame. Not wanting to argue with him, she settles for quietly telling him, “I don’t suppose it matters at this point, anyway,” even though she doesn’t really believe that. Suddenly wanting to get away from this train of thought, she adds, “Here- get those pants off.” Leia doesn’t wait for a response before she starts unfastening his trousers.

“Why, your highnessness…!” Han shoots back with a leer, feigning shock, and she rolls her eyes.

“Shut it, nerfherder. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, anyway.” A red flush creeps up Han’s neck at that, though the slightly smug look he has on his face is enough for her to give a snort of much-welcome laughter. She’s grateful for this, for the way they’ve fallen back into their old pattern of banter and sarcasm, at least to some extent, because she’s not sure that she would be able to hold it together otherwise. At least this way, she can try and pretend things are normal long enough to get Han cleaned up and taken care of. Leia doesn’t want to think about it, but she can’t help but wonder just how he’s going to deal with all of this. He seems to be handling everything surprisingly well, but she suspects he’s still mostly in shock, and she has no idea how he’ll cope once the reality sets in.

Shoving those thoughts aside, she coaxes him to lift each foot in turn, tugging off his pants, infinitely relieved to see that aside from some miscellaneous bruises, the lower half of him, at least, appears to have been left mostly unharmed. Leia instructs him to wait a moment, then wastes no time in removing the… finery that Jabba had forced on her, which joins Han’s clothes on the floor with a muffled clang. The noise catches Han’s attention, and she sees his face twist with despair and rage, though it’s evident that he’s trying to hide it, trying to be strong for her. A wave of emotion sweeps over Leia then, and she has to fight to keep from falling apart completely. She settles for smoothing her hands over Han’s shoulders and reaching up to caress his cheek before pulling him down to kiss her, and he responds immediately, kissing her with the same kind of desperation she’s feeling right now.

“It’s all right,” she murmurs into his ear as they break the kiss, her fingers combing through the hair at the back of his neck, trying to soothe him. “I’m all right, Han. I’m okay, I promise." 

Her words don’t have the effect she intended, and he makes a noise that sounds like a growl. “Nothing about _that_ ,” he hisses, gesturing toward where he thinks she dropped whatever it was she was wearing, “is ‘all right.’” Instinctively, his hands feel their way up to her collar, fingers tracing the metal until he finds the catch holding it around her neck. “Let me take this off,” he murmurs, and Leia wants to laugh, thinking that there’s no way he’ll be able to get it unlocked without being able to see what he’s doing. But there’s a desperate edge to his voice that warns her not to argue, signals that he’s dangerously close to falling apart completely, and so she acquiesces, turning and pulling her hair over one shoulder to give him better access. There’s something profoundly intimate about it, the two of them standing there naked as Han tries to rid them both of the last souvenirs of their experience with Jabba the Hutt.

Han’s hands are clumsy and shaking at first, and Leia opens her mouth to offer to just get Chewie to deal with it later, but as he slides his fingers along the collar, feeling out the clasp and trying to get a sense of how it locks, they grow surer, steadying as if by the force of his will and Leia wonders why she doubted him. He’d always been an excellent mechanic, though he tended to rely more on brute force than Luke, who had a bit more finesse. This time, though, his hands are gentle. She can feel some prodding at the back of the neck, hear Han’s fingers picking at the collar’s lock, and a few muttered curses and a minute or two later, it pops open, drawing a triumphant noise from Han as he pulls it off and flings it to the floor with an angry clatter.

“I’ll kill him,” he snarls. “I’ll fucking kill him."

Leia turns to face him again at that, taking his face into her hands, though she can’t help the humorless smile that curves her lips. “You’re too late,” she says simply. “I got there first."

“I swear to- what?” He’s left blinking down at a flesh-colored blur that he takes to be her face when her words sink in. “You did?"

“Sure did. Strangled him with my chain. It seemed like the least I could do, after… after everything."

Han relaxes slightly at that, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “That’s my girl,” he says softly, leaning down to kiss Leia gently. “You never disappoint, Princess." 

Leia only wishes that that were true, but all she says is, “Here- let’s get you cleaned up.” She guides him into the ‘fresher, and he seems marginally calmer now, knowing that if nothing else, at least Leia is out of that slave get-up. Keeping an arm around his waist, she edges them both over to the shower, dialing up some warm water and letting it get going for a minute before turning to help Han into the shower. Eying the state of his chest, she bites her lip. “This might sting,” she warns, and he shrugs.

“Yeah, figured as much,” is all he says before carefully getting into the shower, though he can’t quite stop the hiss of pain he makes as the water hits the burns and sores on his chest.

Leia’s already following him under the water, reaching for a bar of soap, lathering up herself first and then gently, cautiously smoothing her hands over his shoulders and chest, watching the carbonite residue, dust and general grime slip away down the drain. Han fliches when she brushes a hand over his side, and she frowns. “I should have given you some re-gen for those ribs first,” she murmurs, but Han quickly shakes his head.

“No- no, I want this dirt off,” he replies. Leia can see from the way his brow furrows that there’s something on his mind, that he’s wrestling with himself over whether or not to say something. She’s debating pressing him on it when he speaks in a low tone, barely audible over the rushing of the water. “I can still feel their hands on me, Leia.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two! That didn't take as long as I anticipated, actually. Thanks muchly to everyone who left comments, kudos, et cetera. Feedback and constructive criticism is always welcome!

Leia releases a long breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. She hadn’t expected that kind of a confession from him- not because she’s surprised that he's still trying to sort through what happened to him, but because while Han is plenty emotional, he's always been one to mask weakness as much as possible. It isn't like him to just come out with something like that, even to her. “They can’t get you here,” she tells him softly, running a hand up and down his arm. “It’s just you and me."

“Yeah, you, me and our _good friend_ Lando,” Han retorts before shaking his head, reaching a hand out in the hopes of grabbing some shampoo but not succeeding in doing much more than groping pointlessly at the wall and almost losing his already fragile balance. “Damn."

Leia reaches and helps steady him. “Easy,” she says quietly. “Your eyes will get better, but you have to give it time.” He mutters something under his breath that sounds like, _I know, I know_ , and she smiles slightly in spite of the situation. “Well, if you know, you could save me the trouble of reminding you over and over again,” she tells him tartly, pleased when that pulls a snort of laughter from him. “Put out your hand,” she instructs, putting some shampoo in it when he complies. Leia watches as he starts washing his hair before going about washing her own. Han is swaying slightly on his feet, and she can tell that he’s fading fast.

Once he’s done shampooing his hair, Han edges under the spray from the shower, scowling when he realizes that he has no way of knowing when he’s gotten all of the soap out. _Gods, what if I end up like this permanently?_ he wonders in a flash of panic, but he tries to tamp it down. He can’t think about that now, not unless he wants Leia to find herself stuck in the shower with a grown man curled up on the floor having a panic attack. Instead, he settles for asking her, “Did I get it all?"

Leia’s hand follows her gaze, and she brushes her fingers through his wet hair. “Yeah,” she answers quietly, “you did."

Han shivers then, wrapping his arms around himself. “Is it- is there something wrong with the shower? It’s getting cold in here."

That draws a concerned frown from Leia as she finishes rinsing out her long hair. She looks at the steam coming from the water and replies cautiously, “The water’s still pretty hot.”

Han blinks. “It is?” There’s a pitch to his voice that isn’t familiar to Leia, but she can tell he’s on the edge of some kind of meltdown, and she wants to at least get him out of the shower and dressed before that happens.

Still, she can’t lie to him, and so she murmurs, “Yeah, it is.” Without waiting for a response, she reaches out and grasps one of Han’s hands in her own, finding his skin cool and clammy to the touch. “It’s shock, Han,” she says after a moment. “You’re in shock. The adrenaline from what happened on Tatooine is probably wearing off.” Han just stares down at her, uncomprehending, and Leia makes an immediate decision, reaching to turn off the water. “Okay, flyboy, I’d say that’s about enough of the shower. C’mon.” Over his weak protestations, she prods him out of the shower, grabbing a towel and drying him off, taking pains to be careful of his injured chest and ribs.

Han feels bleary and confused and so damn _tired_ , he has no idea how he’s going to get from the ‘fresher to his bed, which is the only place in the whole galaxy he wants to be at this point, despite the nagging terror that this is all a dream, and maybe if he goes to sleep, he’ll wake up back in a cell in Jabba’s palace, or in carbonite, or strapped to that scan grid, or Gods know where. He can’t force his thoughts into enough of a coherent sentence to express any of this to Leia, but he’s not sure he’d tell her even if he thought he could explain. She has her own problems to deal with- she doesn't need his, too. Han can feel her next to him, assumes she’s drying off, too, but suddenly her presence is gone, nothing there when he looks for the now-familiar blur that he took to be her, and he’s just standing there, helpless and suddenly terrified.

“Leia?” _Kriffing Corellian hells, what if this really is all just some kind of hibernation dream?_ Han works to keep a handle on his rising panic. “Leia, are you-"

“I’m just getting some clothes- wait there."

He does as he’s told, shivering, feeling decidedly vulnerable and thinking that this whole blindness situation is quite possibly the most unpleasant thing he’s ever experienced, and given that he just came out of a Darth Vader torture session, followed by freezing in carbonite, that’s really saying something. A few moments later, he sees a vague, Leia-like shape appear at the refresher’s doorway, brandishing something he assumes are pajamas. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Han’s surprised she was able to find any at all- more often than not, he sleeps in his underwear, if that. Wordlessly, he accepts each item of clothing and puts it on as she hands it to him, making sure they’re turned in the right direction so he doesn’t wind up putting anything on backwards. While he’s grateful for the help, he hates that he needs it, and he can’t bring himself to look at her. _Not that you’d see much if you did_ , he thinks bitterly.

As if sensing what he’s thinking, Leia steps in closer, pulling him down for a kiss. “It’ll get better, Han,” she tells him earnestly. “Please believe me."

Han wants to retort that she has no way of knowing that for sure, but he can’t bring himself to say the words aloud. None of this is Leia’s fault, after all. He was the one stupid enough to think that going to Lando was a good idea in the first place, and it was his debt that made him such an attractive target for both Boba Fett and Vader himself. Leia doesn’t deserve his bullshit. Wanting to apologize again for all of this but knowing full well that more apologies will either be dismissed as unnecessary or met with Leia’s own apologies, which are the last thing Han wants, he settles for reaching for her and leaning in for another kiss. As he pulls back, though, he realizes that there’s something familiar about the fabric under his hands, and when he puzzles it out, his mouth quirks upward in a wry grin. “Stealin’ my clothes now, Princess? Would've thought you could do better than this."

Leia tries to chuckle, wanting to play along, but there’s not much life behind it. She doesn’t dare tell Han how long he’s been gone, how long she’s been wearing his shirts to bed, obsessing over how to get him back. She saw in the shower how close to panic he was, and she hopes that the news might go over a bit easier if he at least hears it after getting some sleep. Leia’s not about to lie if he asks her directly, but so far he hasn’t asked, and she’s not volunteering that information. She knows that she has to tell him soon, tell him before Chewie or someone else does- she was a bit shocked, actually, that Chewie _hadn’t_ told him when they were in that cell together at Jabba’s palace, but when she’d asked him about it, he had rumbled that it seemed like a bad idea to say anything right then. He knows Han better than anyone else, and Leia takes refuge in the idea that if _he_ didn’t think it was wise to say anything right away, it probably wasn’t.

Realizing that she’s been standing there for a good minute now, Han just holding her, gazing down at her with sightless eyes, Leia tries to shake the troubling thoughts out of her head. “Let me get you something for your ribs, all right?” Reluctantly pulling away, she opens the medicine cabinet and finds the nyex that she’d stashed there, along with a couple of re-gen patches. She starts with the patches, warning, “I have to look at your ribs, see where to put these re-gen patches.” Then she’s hiking up Han’s shirt and gingerly probing at where the worst bruising is, softly apologizing when he flinches away with a low, pained sound.

“I know,” she murmurs, “I know. We’re almost done.” She looks up at him, and his eyes are tightly closed, his face drawn with pain. So long as she’s known him, his tolerance for physical pain has always been fairly high- he has to be exhausted, hurting pretty badly or both to let her see him this way.

“I know,” he grates out. “Just- get it over with, Leia."

Leia does as he asks, applying the patches as quickly and deftly as she can, considering that she doesn’t have much in the way of medical training. Next she’s placing a couple of nyex pills in one of Han’s hands and a glass of water in the other. “Take these,” she tells him firmly, her tone brooking no argument. “They’ll make you drowsy, but they should take the edge off until we can get you real medical attention."

“Already half asleep as it is, sweetheart,” Han mumbles before downing the pills, then stands there uncertainly, clutching at his glass of water until Leia takes it back and sets it aside. She can’t stand seeing him like this. It’s so different from how he usually is- brash and decisive. There was a time that she might have said that he was a little too much of both, but now that she’s seeing the alternative, she hates herself a little for ever thinking that.

“It’s all right,” she tells him softly, and Han can feel her hand at the small of his back, guiding him back toward his bed. Too tired to keep trying to pretend that he’s fine, he doesn’t even bother protesting anymore, just goes along with it. It feels like the nyex has started taking hold, the sharp, intense pain in his ribs already diminishing to a dull throb.

Once Han is in bed, Leia follows him, and he wastes no time in wrapping his arms around her, pulling her in close. He’s still shivering, and Leia frowns. “Are you still cold?” she asks, trying to sound casual, or at least not as worried as she actually is, and she feels him nod.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Can’t get warm, somehow."

Leia reaches for one of his hands, taking it in her own, trying to warm it a bit. She hopes that this is just a side effect of the unfreezing process, that it’s normal, or what passes for normal when you have fewer than five recorded instances of humans being frozen in carbonite in the first place. Even if it’s not just a side effect, or a symptom of something more severe, Leia is keenly aware that she’s helpless to do much about it. They can’t just stop off at the nearest planet and try to get him medical attention, after all- the only solution is to get to the rendezvous point as quickly as possible and hope for the best. She’s never been one to handle helplessness well, and now is no exception. _You can’t lose your cool right now_ , she tells herself firmly. _You have to stay calm for him._ So all she says aloud is, “Is this any better?"

Han presses a kiss to the top of her head, and she can feel him smile slightly. “Sure,” he answers, but she’s not convinced that he’s being entirely honest with her, but before she can tell him that she’s not a child who needs to be humored, he adds, “Thanks, Leia. For- taking care of me like this.” Leia can tell that the words weren’t easy for him to say, and her heart breaks a little at the thought that he felt like he needed to say them at all. Shifting in the bed, she turns to face him.

“You don’t need to thank me for this,” she tells him quietly. “I love you- I’m happy to take care of you.” Looking at him now, exhausted and fighting sleep, she feels sick to her stomach at the memory of watching him sink down into that carbon-freezing chamber on Bespin. “Gods, Han,” she blurts suddenly, "we were- I was so afraid I’d lost you forever, do you have _any_ idea?” Just saying that aloud is enough for Leia to feel the terror anew. What if he _wasn’t_ as “okay” as he seemed?

Han ducks his head, unsure of what he’s supposed to say to that. Truth be told, he doesn't have any idea, not least because he wasn’t a man very accustomed to having anyone but Chewie who much cared what happened to him. But he remembers all too well that horrible knot in his stomach as he kissed Leia that last time, the way it felt when she told her that she loved him, just as he was sure he was going to die in a particularly horrible way. Han doesn’t know what to do with any of it, or really what to do with the desperate tone in Leia’s voice now, and so he settles for, “I love you."

He guesses he said the right thing, since he feels Leia relax, slipping a hand up the back of his neck to tangle in his hair before she pulls him down to her, kissing him deeply. He’s exhausted, but he still kisses her back, as much out of a sudden, urgent need to reassure himself that she’s really there as anything else. “I’m right here, okay?” he says softly, smoothing a hand up and down her back. “Kind of a wreck, but I’m still here.” He wishes he could see her face, see if what he’s saying is having any effect. In actual fact, Han’s not entirely sure that he believes he’s really there, but if this is all some kind of fever dream, he guesses he’ll enjoy it while it lasts. But the nyex Leia gave him is really starting to kick in now, and his eyes are trying to close of their own accord, but he’s fighting it, half out of fear that he’ll wake up somewhere else, somewhere horrifying, or maybe not wake up at all.

When Leia looks up at him, she can see that he’s struggling to stay awake. For a second, she can’t quite figure it out- he’s been visibly on the verge of collapse since before he even had a shower, so it doesn’t make sense that he wouldn’t want to sleep. But she thinks about it for a moment and takes a stab at what’s bothering him, curling up against him and murmuring, “Just go to sleep, Han. I’m not going anywhere."

Han blinks down at her for a second and considers protesting, claiming that that wasn’t what he was worried about, but he’s too tired to care that she’s caught him out. Instead, he settles for a quiet chuff of laughter before tightening his arms around her and mumbling, “Whatever you say, your worshipfulness,” before finally allowing the nyex to carry him off to sleep.

Leia stays awake until she hears his breathing deepen and even out, thinking as she drifts off that after everything that’s happened, she could listen to his heartbeat forever, if it were an option. She’s keenly aware of how lucky they all were in this; even with the problems with Han’s eyesight, it could have all gone so much worse.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... and Chapter 3. Nice to see that a four-hour flight is good for something, anyway! As always, comments and feedback are very much welcomed and encouraged. Thanks for sticking with it thus far!

 

 

 

Leia had been prepared for Han to be a wreck when they unfroze him. She had been prepared for the hibernation sickness, the loss of his eyesight, how horrified he was likely to be when he discovered that he’d lost a year- a _year-_  to Jabba and the carbonite. Leia had thought that between them, she, Luke, Chewbacca and Lando had factored in all of the possible contingencies. She believed in that, in thinking ahead and planning for as many possible outcomes as she could; she had always chalked it up to a deep-seated but little-acknowledged (by her, at least- Han had always had her number there) need to feel in control, no matter how the world might be spinning off its axis. So she was prepared, or told herself that she was.

Leia hadn’t been prepared for the screaming.

She doesn’t know how long the two of them have been sleeping when it starts. It’s not even the screaming that wakes her up initially, so much as the tense, agitated way he starts tossing and turning. Initially thinking _she’s_ the one having some kind of a strange dream, she starts to roll over and go back to sleep, but she suddenly realizes that Han is talking to himself in his sleep, muttering things she can’t make out in tones that are alternately angry and pleading. Before Leia can do anything to react to that, he starts yelling- howling in a way that jerks her fully into wakefulness and thrusts her back to Bespin. 

She doesn’t need to guess at what he’s dreaming of- she’s only ever heard Han scream like this once, and she was even more helpless to stop it then than she is now. Going on instinct, Leia reaches for him, intending to gently shake his shoulder, but he jerks away from her touch as if he’s been burned, and he’s begging now, in a terrified, frantic tone that she never would have thought she’d hear from him, ever, if she hadn’t seen it once before. “Han!” Leia's voice is sharper than she wants it to be, but she doesn’t know how else to cut through the dream, and she’s starting to worry that he might further injure himself if this goes on much longer. “Han, wake up!"

“Please, please, please, just stop- please, I- I can’t-"

“Han, it’s me- it’s Leia. You’re having a dream, you- you have to wake up. _Please_  wake up, Han….” Leia’s voice breaks as Han pleads with phantoms she knows all too well to stop hurting him. She reaches for him again, grabs his shoulder this time and gives him a firm shake. “C’mon- come back to me."

Whether it’s her tone or the shaking that wakes him, she doesn’t know, but he suddenly goes stock still, eyes flying open, and he looks terrified. “L-leia?"

Han’s breath is coming in harsh gasps that are agony with his broken ribs, but he doesn’t care about that right now, only about making sure that he’s not back at Cloud City. Without waiting for an answer, he reaches for a blurry figure he hopes to hell is her, breathing a shaky sigh of relief when his hands find her familiar form there next to him. Han’s trying to gather up whatever shreds of his composure he can find, assemble some kind of explanation for Leia or at least a reassurance he’s okay, but after that, he’s not sure that “okay” describes him at all right now.

“I’m right here,” Leia reassures him softly, shifting to help him sit up and then rubbing his back, unable to keep from noticing that he’s drenched in a cold sweat. “You’re okay- there’s no one here but us."

He shakes his head slightly, mortified, both at what just happened and that Leia saw it. When he finally speaks, the words leave him in fits and starts. “I- it was- Bespin. I thought I was- back there.” Han swallows thickly, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He’s never had a nightmare like this before in his life. “What’s happening to me, Leia?"

Leia can’t help but smile grimly. While she wishes it were otherwise, this is one area where she has entirely too much expertise. Still, having a good idea of the problem and figuring out how to explain it to Han are two different things. “You were tortured by Darth Vader himself, Han,” she tells him finally. “Most people would have nightmares after that- and that’s without the carbonite."

Han shudders heavily next to her, holding up a hand when she mentions the carbonite. “Please, don’t- I don’t want to talk about it,” he says, his voice hoarse and rasping. That’s not something he wants to share with Leia right now- or ever, if he can help it.

“You don’t have to,” Leia replies, her voice low. “I… I saw what they did to you.” She can feel him go rigid at that piece of information and doesn’t need to look at him to know that he’s looking at her. Sure enough, when she hazards a glance over at Han, his face is a mask of horror.

“You never…,” he began, but he can’t finish the sentence. She never told him, he’s trying to say, never gave him any indication that she had seen what happened in that room with the scan grid. But she did, and he doesn’t know _how_ to handle that. The thought of Leia, of all people, seeing that, seeing how weak he was, how quickly they broke him down to nothing, makes him feel sick. She’s never gone into details about it, but he knows that she went through at least one torture session of her own at Vader’s hands; he discovered that she had nightmares about it when they started sharing a bed. But somehow this feels different, shameful, and Han buries his face in his hands with a quiet, distressed noise. When he speaks again, his voice is muffled. “Why would they…?"

“Vader said he thought it would be… _instructive_ ,” Leia spits, disgusted that she has to repeat anything that bastard has said to her.

Han lifts his head at that, looking incredulous. “Instructive?” he repeats, his tone taking on a slightly higher pitch than usual. He says it again, the taste of the word making him grimace. “ _Instructive_.” He had realized that Vader was using him as a tool to get to Luke back when Lando had confessed that their capture, his torture, the whole thing had been a setup to draw Luke out of hiding, but hearing it from Leia still stung. “Well,” he mutters darkly, hating the broken quality of his voice, “I’m glad I was there to provide a good _object lesson_  for everyone."

Leia cringes at that; she hadn’t fully considered the implications of telling Han just what Vader had said, and when he puts it that way, it does sound even worse than it might have been to begin with. Being tortured that way was horrific enough, but at least in her case, she had been able to reassure herself that she was going through all of it for the good of the galaxy and to save the Rebel Alliance. Han was simply a convenient target, just one more way to get at Luke and herself. She doesn’t know what to say that could make any of that less upsetting, so she settles for reaching for Han and pulling him to her, just holding him for a long moment.

He’s tense at first, not quite trying to pull away, but not really accepting the embrace, either, but after a couple of minutes, he sags into Leia’s arms, head dipping to rest on her shoulder. He can feel her fingers combing through the hair at the nape of his neck, and he slips his arms about her and squeezes. Sometimes Han thinks about how _small_  she is, especially compared to him, and he wonders how in the world she can handle all of his issues and bullshit in addition to everything that’s already on her shoulders. He’s particularly wondering that now, as he starts to sense that getting past what happened on Bespin might not be as simple as just resting a day or two and walking it off. Leia’s got enough to worry about without all of his shit, and why would she saddle herself with someone like him, anyway? That thought is enough to make the panic start welling up again, but all he can manage is a hoarse, “I’m sorry, Leia. I’m sorry you- had to see….” Han can’t finish the sentence. _Sorry you had to see how weak I actually am_ , he means. _Sorry you had to see them break me down to nothing. Sorry you had to see how quickly they were able to make me beg for mercy- beg for death, if it would put an end to what they were doing with that scan grid._

His words make Leia’s eyes widen, and she pulls back slightly, looking appalled. “What? Han, are you crazy?” Without waiting for him to answer, she takes his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her, even though he can only barely make out her features at the moment. He looks tired, she notes immediately. He looks tired and angry and upset, and that’s all understandable, but she’s damned if she’ll let him blame himself for this. “Han Solo, I will not let you apologize. Not for this. Gods, you were _tortured_. In what galaxy do you think that I would expect an apology from you after that?"

“Because it was my fault we were there in the first place!” Han snaps, abruptly pulling away. “I was the idiot who insisted on going to Bespin. I was the one who was so damn sure that Lando would help us. I almost got all of us killed!"

“And I got my entire planet blown up, along with my parents,” Leia breaks in before Han can really get on a roll, drawing an aghast look from him. “What? If we’re going to start blaming ourselves for all of Darth Vader’s various intergalactic crimes, why stop with torture? I could have just given him the location of the Rebel base, after all, and maybe a planet’s worth of people would still be alive.” Her tone sounds almost flip, but the words are anything but. Han knows full well that Alderaan populates many of Leia’s worst nightmares, even though she’s rarely willing to talk about it. That she’s doing so now leaves him shaken. He still doesn’t think the two things are comparable at all, but it’s pretty clear that he’s unlikely to convince Leia of that. What do you even say to that, anyway? “Don’t worry, it will be all right?” Because it won’t be all right. Han knows he’s a cad and a smart aleck, but even he realizes that Alderaan will never be “all right” ever again. Whether that also applies to him and Leia, he doesn’t want to contemplate too deeply.

There’s a silence that stretches between them for a long moment before Han asks, his voice so uncharacteristically quiet that it’s nearly inaudible, “Leia, how long was I frozen in that carbonite?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who's commented and given kudos- always much appreciated. This is already looking like it's going to be significantly longer than originally anticipated, so thanks for sticking with me.

For a moment, Leia can only stare at him. She fights the urge to swear. She’d known that this moment of reckoning was coming, of course, but she really wishes it was at least coming after they’d both had a full night’s sleep, or Han’s vision had completely returned, or maybe just _not_  after Han had woken from a nightmare about being tortured. But here it is, and she’s not going lie to him, not about this. Leia sucks in a deep breath and reaches for his hand.

“You were in the carbonite for- for almost a year."

Han feels like he’s been dropped from a height. “A year?” he repeats disbelievingly, and his voice is shaking. That can’t be right. It just can’t be- he’d expected to hear that he’d been out of it for a few weeks, maybe even a couple of months, but a year? But it’s Leia sitting there, telling him this, and it must be true, and nine Corellian hells, a _year_? Han’s sucking in hitched, desperate breaths, but it’s like he’s not getting any air at all, and his heart feels like it’s going to explode out of his chest. All he can do is sit there, clinging to Leia’s hand, certain that it’s the only thing keeping him from spiraling completely out of control.

“I’m sorry, Han,” he hears her saying, and her voice sounds as though it’s coming from far away. “We- we looked for you- we never _stopped_  looking for you- but after the bounty hunter took you away, it…. It took time, figuring out where they had taken you, and then- sneaking in and getting you out….”

“You spent a year looking for me?” he asks hoarsely when he can compose himself enough to put together a sentence. The very idea is insane- Leia’s got a rebellion to run, for Gods’ sake, she couldn’t possibly have taken a year out of her life to go searching Jabba’s various haunts for him. But even with his eyes still out of focus, he can see that she’s staring fixedly down at their hands, and that’s answer enough. Han doesn’t know what to think. Besides Chewie, he’s pretty sure that he’s never had anyone in his life that would invest that kind of time and energy trying to help him.

“I guess there’s not much point in asking what I missed,” he says with a half-hysterical laugh. A year. He’d lost a year because of those bastards. His breath is coming in gasps now, and he knows he needs to calm down, but the only thought reverberating through his brain is,  _A year, a year, a year, and you’ll never get it back._ Han would desperately like to limp his way out to the cockpit and strangle Lando with his bare hands, but he’s currently too preoccupied with trying not to pass out. He ducks his head, trying to get himself under control, but it isn’t working, and- and- he was trapped in that stuff for a year…!

Han is gripping her hand so hard it almost hurts, it’s obvious that he’s about to go over the edge completely, and Leia’s not sure what she’ll do to try and pull him back if that happens. “Han, you have to try and calm down, all right? You’re having a panic attack.”

“Calm down? I was trapped in carbonite for a _year_ , I’m half blind, one of the bastards who did it to me is out there flying _my_ ship, and I’m supposed to be calm?” If Leia didn’t know better, she would think he was on the verge of tears.

“I know. I know.” There’s not much else she can say, really- she wasn’t in much better shape when the full weight of what had happened to Han sank in, after they had left Bespin, but she’d had months to process at least some of it, to temper some of her own rage at Lando and adopt a more pragmatic attitude towards his involvement with the Rebellion. Leia wishes she was better at this- she doesn’t know what to say to try and calm him, probably because there really isn’t anything she _can_ say to make the situation less awful. There’s a long pause, the silence broken only by Han struggling to get his breathing under control.

“We didn’t have a choice about Lando,” Leia offers morosely. “He was the one who’d made the deal, so he was the only one with any idea of where they were taking you. If we hadn’t accepted his help, it could have taken even longer to find you. He was- he went under cover at Jabba’s for months before we figured out a way to break in.” _And even that almost blew up in our faces_. She reaches to smooth back Han’s hair, just looking at him for a moment before she admits, “I- I wasn’t sure about it then, and I’m not sure about it now, but Luke had been badly injured, and we had no idea how long you could survive, frozen that way, and I just- I’m sorry, Han, I knew you wouldn’t like it, him being involved, and the last thing _I_ wanted was to be anywhere near him, but it felt like we were out of options, and I- I was so afraid I’d lost you…."

Leia’s voice catches at the last, and she buries her face in his shoulder, listening to his ragged breathing and trying to reassure herself that at least now he’s there, with her, and something has finally worked out for them. Han holds her close, resting his chin on the top of her head and trying not to consider all of the implications of this whole mess too carefully. “I owe you one,” he says finally. “A lot of people would’ve just left me there and said ‘good riddance.’” _More like anyone else, except for Chewie_ , he thinks grimly.

“You owe me nothing,” she shoots back, her voice muffled, “and there was no way I was leaving you there- no way any of us were.” Her voice takes on a wry tone. “It just… took us a while, that’s all."

Han laughs at that, and Leia hates how _broken_  it sounds. “Better late than never, Princess.” A pause. “So you’re telling me I should trust Lando now?"

Leia pulls away from him, shaking her head. “You can do what you want, but I’ll never completely trust him again. Not after what he did to us.” She hesitates for a moment, then sighs. “But I’ve been dealing with him off and on for almost a year, and I haven’t seen any signs that he’s tried to double cross us again. And believe me, I’ve been looking for them.” Han doesn’t say anything to that, and when she looks up at him, he’s frowning thoughtfully. She wonders if he’s aware of the way one of his hands is smoothing up and down her back, almost of its own accord.

The last thing Han wants is to make nice with Lando. He’s still numb with shock at the idea of how long he’s been stuck in that carbonite, and Lando’s machinations were a large part of what put him there. But he can’t argue with the fact that Lando had helped the others get him out and save him from spending eternity hanging in Jabba’s palace as a trophy and warning to others. The thought makes him feel supremely uncomfortable. “I guess it would be best for the Rebellion if I let bygones be bygones, huh?” he asks, and Leia’s arms tighten around him in response.

“Probably,” she agrees, “but… I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t.” _She_  certainly wouldn’t just let this go- it’s only the passage of time that has allowed her the luxury of not wanting to strangle Lando every time she sees him. And while Han has a quick, sometimes mercurial temper that flares up suddenly and cools off just as fast, Leia can hold a grudge, and she has no intention of completely forgiving or forgetting what Lando wrought in his dealings with the Empire. In her line of work, it doesn’t often pay to forget things like that, but she’s also had to develop a capacity for working with people she detests, and so she tolerates him.

“I’ll try not to kill him,” Han promises, and Leia chuckles.

“That’s all I’m asking for, flyboy.” Leia leans up for a kiss, gratified that Han seems at least marginally calmer now. But he still looks tired and shaken, and she frowns. “You should go back to sleep,” she says quietly, and Han snorts.

“You’re kidding, right? After what just happened?"

“And? Are you planning on never sleeping again?"

“Leia-"

“We’re supposed to rendezvous with the rest of the Rebel fleet in a day. What good are you going to do with no sleep?”

Han opens his mouth to object and promptly closes it again, staring down at his lap for a long moment before muttering, “What good am I going to do without my eyesight might be a better question."

“Your eyesight will come back,” Leia insists, though even as she says that, she’s mentally crossing her fingers. “It’s already improving, isn’t it?” Gods, she hoped it was.

“Improving on total blindness is a pretty low bar."

“Just humor me, all right? Please?” Leia is torn between the urge to strangle him for being so damn contrary and the urge to lock him away in the safest place she can find and make sure that nothing ever happens to him again. The idea that they might have rescued him from Jabba only for something to happen at the rendezvous point is chilling, but they have no choice, really. Leia has to be there, and she knows full well that Han isn’t about to stay behind. She doesn’t _want_  him to stay behind- the idea of leaving him after everything that’s happened makes her feel sick.

Han’s never had any problem matching Leia for stubbornness, and this is no exception. “Leia, I’m not tired enough to sleep right now, anyway.” That much is true- his brain is going a thousand miles a minute, trying to process this latest revelation about how long he’s been out of commission. “Can we just- let’s just sit here for a second, all right?” A smirk. “Unless you changed your mind, and you want me to go out there and strangle Lando after all."

Leia rolls her eyes, but she’s pleased just the same. If Han’s feeling well enough to make jokes and bicker with her, she’s willing to take that as a positive sign. Still, she doesn’t miss the way he grimaces as he sits up a bit more, and before he can protest, she pulls up his shirt to get a better look at his ribs. The bruising is still there, but it doesn’t look quite as angry as it did earlier. “Does it feel any better?” she asks, and Han shrugs.

“A little. Think the re-gen patches are working, anyway.” He shifts a little, trying to get comfortable, and he notices that he doesn’t feel quite as cold as he did before, either. He hopes that’s an indication that the hibernation sickness is starting to run its course. Leia’s still hovering, and he shoots her a lopsided grin. “I’m okay, Leia. Really. It’s just a lot of information to take in, that’s all.” It’s more than that, really, and they both know it, but Han hates the idea of being some kind of traumatized shell of himself, and maybe if he tries hard enough to pretend that he’s just fine, he will be.

“I’ve got some more of the nyex, if you want it,” Leia offers, expecting the shake of the head she receives in response.

“I think I’ll pass, thanks.” Han’s not sure whether or not the painkillers made the nightmare worse than it might have been, but the last thing he wants right now is something that will make him sleep. Instead, he reaches for Leia and pulls her in close. “Just- stay here for a while, okay?"

Leia wastes no time in curling up against him, resting her head on his chest. “No place else I’d rather be,” she assures him quietly. Once they arrive at Sullust, she doubts they’re going to have many opportunities to have any quiet time alone together like this, and there’s no telling what kind of state they’ll be in once the dust settles. The thought makes her tense. She hates the idea that she may have just gotten Han back only for one or both of them to be killed in yet another battle with the Empire, but there’s nothing to be done about it. Her biggest responsibility is to lead the Rebellion- she couldn’t possibly abandon it now. And if Han hadn’t made it clear before that he was there for the long haul, he has now.

Sensing her thoughts, Han smooths a hand up and down her back. “We’ll make it,” he promises her softly. He knows full well that he has no way of guaranteeing that any more than she does, but he’ll be damned if he lets anything happen to either of them if he can help it. They’ve come too far for everything to just fall apart now. When he glances down, he sees that Leia’s nearly asleep, and while he’s fighting it, he’s feeling drowsy, himself. Han manages to stay awake for another fifteen or twenty minutes, content to just watch Leia sleep, but eventually he can’t help but allow himself to be lulled asleep by her warmth and the rhythm of her breathing. _I’ll have to talk to Lando later_ , he thinks just before drifting off. _We have unfinished business_.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still moving right along! Thanks for everyone who's continuing to read this. It's been a really enjoyable foray into Star Wars fanfic thus far. More to come as soon as I can get it written.

When Han jerks awake later, he pulls himself out of another nightmare- this one unpleasant, but not quite as vivid as the first was. Leia is still there with him, yawning as she awakes to look up at him with concern. “Hey- everything all right?" 

“Yeah,” he replies slowly, “yeah, just- another dream. ’S nothing.” It’s not until he looks down and sees the open skepticism on Leia’s face that Han realizes that his eyes have markedly improved, and he doesn’t think he’s ever been so happy to see for himself that she doesn’t believe a word he’s saying, even if everything is still just slightly blurry. 

Leia sees the way Han’s face lights up when he looks at her, and her skepticism melts into a wry grin. “What? Don’t think I believe that it’s just little old me that would get that kind of a reaction from you."

Han immediately starts to object, quickly decides that there’s no good way to get himself out of _that_  conversation and settles for, “My eyes- I think they’re better.” He pauses and squints at her. “Well, almost better. Unless you’ve gotten blurrier recentl-“ He can’t get the rest of the sentence out, because suddenly Leia’s keeping his mouth busy by kissing it. 

“Why, your stateness!” Han exclaims when they pause for air. “I had no idea that the state of my vision was such a turn-on for you.” He’s genuinely thrilled that his eyes seem to be improving, of course, but he’s almost as relieved that he’s managed to stall any additional questions about his dream. The less time spent on that, the better, is his feeling.

Leia rolls her eyes. “It’s just the good of the Rebellion I’m thinking of, nerf herder,” she retorts, and Han grins in spite of himself before slowly swinging his legs over the side of the bed, grimacing when he discovers that while his eyesight is dramatically improved, he still feels like he got trampled by a herd of bantha.

“Damn,” he mutters under his breath. “Remind me not to go out drinking with you again any time soon, Princess."

“If that’s your idea of a party, I don’t _want_  you going out with me any time soon,” Leia shoots back with a snort before growing concerned. “Do you want some help?” she offers, but Han shakes his head.

“No, I’ve got it. Just… need a second. Or five.” Slowly, very slowly, he eases himself out of bed and makes his way over to the locker that houses his clothes. He can feel Leia’s concerned gaze on his back, but she leaves him to it. _Probably waiting to see if I fall on my face,_  he thinks, though he guesses she’s earned the entertainment, if nothing else. But he makes it without tripping or otherwise making an ass of himself, and he opens the locker, pulls out his clothes and starts changing. It’s not until he has one of his shirts halfway on that he realizes that it smells… different. At first, Han can’t quite put his finger on it, and then he realizes: it’s the faint but definite floral scent of the soap Leia favors. As he finishes pulling the shirt on, he shoots her a quizzical look before he blinks, putting two and two together and realizing why his shirt smells like her.

“Have you been wearing my shirts, your highness?” he asks her with a wry expression, and she flushes. She’d really hoped that he wouldn’t notice, if only because she expected that he’d rib her mercilessly for it.

Still, Leia gives a resigned sigh, walking over to where Han is tugging on his pants, leaning heavily on the locker to keep his balance. “Yes,” she admits quietly, “I have.” Something in her tone makes him stop and look at her, all humor fleeing, and she gazes back at him for a moment before reaching for him, slipping her arms around his waist and inhaling his masculine scent. “I was so frightened I’d lost you,” she confesses, struggling to keep her voice steady. “All we knew for sure was that- that you were alive, still, in that carbonite. We didn’t know how long you’d actually stay that way, or what the long-term effects were, or- or even where they’d taken you.” Leia’s voice hitches in spite of her best efforts, and she buries her face in Han’s chest.

For a split second, he’s stunned into stillness, shocked not just at the apparent intensity of Leia’s feelings for him, but at the fact that she’s expressing them this way- has been since she rescued him, really, when Han thinks back through the fog of pain and shock that had enveloped most of the time he’d been unfrozen, at least thus far. He’s never known Leia to be this… well, vulnerable before. Even with him. Sometimes _especially_  with him, although that had changed as their relationship had deepened, but still, Han knew that there were some walls that she wouldn’t lower even for him, and now he senses that that's starting to change.

He doesn’t quite know what to think; despite the air of bravado that he typically cultivates, particularly with Leia, he’s always been keenly aware of the vast gulf between their two stations in life, and ever since he first asked Luke about whether it was possible for a princess and a guy like him to get together, he’d secretly believed that the answer was a very definite “no.” Han hadn’t been _lying_ when he’d said that he already knew she loved him, but while he believed that _she_  believed that she loved him, up until waking up on that dirt floor in Jabba’s Palace, he had always harbored doubts, deep down, that ultimately, Leia would wise up and find someone better- more _appropriate_ , some would say. But now, hearing that she’d spent a year looking for him, that she’d been so upset by his absence that she’d taken to wearing his shirts, Han’s starting to wonder if maybe he needs to rethink everything.

All of that flashes through his head in the time it takes to draw breath, and instinctively, he wraps his arms around her. “I’m here now,” he reminds her quietly, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. “I’m here. And I’m not planning on letting myself get frozen again any time soon.” He tries to say that lightly, but it’s all still too fresh. He’s silent for a moment before softly adding, “I’m sorry that- that  you were stuck dealing with… well. With all of this.” Han’s words are awkward- he’s not really much more accustomed to expressing his feelings than Leia is, when it comes right down to it- but they’re heartfelt.

Leia shakes her head against his chest. “Stop apologizing, Han. None of this was your fault. I’m just so glad we found you.” Pulling back, she looks up at him. “It’s only- what if something happens, after all of this? What if you’re-"

“Kest, Leia,” Han cuts her off gently, “nothing’s going to happen to me, all right?” His expression clouds over as an unpleasant thought strikes him, and he firmly adds, “And nothing’s going to happen to you, either.” He leans down and kisses her, trying to banish that idea once and for all. “It’ll be fine.” Admittedly, he supposes that might be _slightly_  more convincing if he hadn’t just woken himself up from a series of nightmares. Twice.

Reluctantly, he moves away from Leia, going back to the bed to put his boots on. He might feel like hell, but he’s damned if he’s going to let Lando know that. _Double-crossing bastard,_  Han thinks, having to work to keep a handle on his temper. Maybe it’s a mistake to try to do this now- maybe what happened is still too new, and there just hasn’t been enough time for him to process all of it. But time is a luxury that they just don’t have right now. He knows himself well enough to know that they need to address this now, before they show up at the rendezvous point, or he’s liable to completely fall apart in front of half the Rebellion.

Han can feel Leia looking at him, and after he gives his left boot one last tug, he looks over at her and shoots her a lopsided grin. “I promised I wouldn’t kill him, your royalty. You don’t need to look at me like I’m about to challenge him to a duel to the death."

Leia is unconvinced. “You promised that you wouldn’t _strangle_ him,” she lobs back. “Don’t think I’m not aware that you have plenty of other ways of dispatching someone if you feel the need."

Damn, Han thinks, it really does drive him crazy when she gets all formal and- and _royal_  on him like that, when she starts using that fancy Core accent of hers. Leia knows it, too, which just makes it more tantalizing. But even if he thought Leia might be up for a roll in the hay, Han very much doubts that he’s in any fit shape to do much that’s worth doing, so he settles for an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “I won’t kill him, Leia,” he insists. “I might _want_  to, but I won’t.” Before she has a chance to talk him out of it, Han turns and strides out of his quarters. He’s shooting for purposeful, but he’s still so sore, his stride is more of a limp, really. Still, it doesn’t stop him from heading straight for the cockpit, unsurprised to find Lando and Chewie sitting there in tense silence.

Chewie greets Han enthusiastically when he spots him, rushing over to pull him into one of his huge hugs, but Han manages to get out, “Careful, pal, my ribs are broken!” just in time to avoid undoing whatever good the re-gen patches might have accomplished. Chewbacca grumbles a little, shooting a glare in Lando’s direction, but settles for a more sedate hug. “Give us a few minutes, Chewie, all right?” Han asks quietly, nudging his chin toward where Lando is sitting, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

Still, Han has to hand it to Lando- he gives it his best effort and plasters an approximation of his usual, charming smile on his face, saying, “Han! So glad to see you’re feeling better!" 

But Han’s not interested in gladhanding. “Save it,” he says shortly as he slowly lowers himself into the chair Chewie vacated. “The freezing process didn’t wipe my memory, Lando. I still remember what you did to us. What you helped them do to me." 

“Han, I’m sorry, but I had no ch-" 

When Han breaks in this time, his voice is low and dangerous in a way Lando doesn’t recognize, and it makes him go completely still. “Don’t you dare tell me that you had no choice, you son of a bitch. You handed me over to Darth Vader himself to be _tortured_ , you let them carbon freeze me, and then I wake up and find out I lost a year of my life? A _year_ , Lando, and you think I give a bantha’s ass about your civic problems back at Cloud City?"

Lando stares down at the flight console for a long moment before answering, and it’s obvious to Han that he’s trying to decide what he can say that’s least likely to get him a punch in the face. “I wasn’t proud of what happened, Han. I didn’t know- I had no idea that they were going to- do those things to you."

Han laughs nastily. “What did you think they were going to do to us? Have us over for dinner? Invite us to play a nice game of sabacc?” He has to pause for a moment to try and rein in his temper, only because he can feel the rising urge to physically lash out, and while he doesn’t much care about Lando’s wellbeing, he does care about the promise he made to Leia, who he suspects is sitting just back in the communal area, listening to every last word they’re saying. Instead, he hisses, “Did they let you watch, too? When they hooked me up to that scan grid? Or did you just stand outside making deals while you listened to me screaming?” Lando flinches at that, and Han knows that his words have hit their target. Still, Lando being Lando, he tries to defend himself.

“That was why I helped them look for you,” he offers placatingly. “I didn’t mean for everything to get so far out of hand- you’re right, you didn’t deserve that."

“I guess I did it to myself- I was dumb enough to trust you, after all,” Han mutters before looking Lando dead in the eye. “I won’t make that mistake again. Consider this your only warning.” He hauls himself out of the chair then, fighting not to let the pain show on his face- not in front of Lando. “You should thank Leia, you know,” he throws back over his shoulder as he makes his way to where he expects Leia’s waiting. “She’s the only reason I didn’t come out here and choke you out."

Han finds Leia sitting by the dejarik table, Chewie standing nearby. When Chewie sees him, he tells Han that choking Lando out probably would have been the smart thing to do, which draws a hollow grin. “I know, pal,” he agrees, “but we might need him later. Go make sure he’s not trying to park us on the nearest star destroyer, okay?”

When Chewbacca goes back up to the cockpit, Han sags over the game table, feeling nauseous. “He’s right, you know,” he says quietly, looking over at Leia. “It probably would be the smart move to just get rid of him."

“Probably,” Leia agrees, her tone similarly quiet, “but when have we ever been known to do the smart thing?”

That pulls a snort of laughter from Han, but there’s not much humor in it. He needs to get out of there, he realizes, suddenly noticing that his chest feels uncomfortably tight and his hands are shaking now that the adrenaline of confronting Lando has worn off.  He can feel that hitched, panicky quality coming into his breathing again, and he closes his eyes for a moment, consciously willing himself to calm down. _What the hell is wrong with me?_

Between witnessing Han’s panic attack earlier and having entirely too much experience with them herself, Leia recognizes the signs almost immediately and reaches for Han’s hand, her other hand rubbing his back. “It’s okay, Han,” she murmurs into his ear, pulling a taut nod from him. “He’s not going to try anything else- Chewie would kill him if he did. You know that, right? Just rip his arms clean off, probably.” That draws a choked-sounding laugh, but Han won’t quite look at her.

“I’m a real mess, Leia,” he mumbles, and Leia makes a disapproving noise.

“You’ve been unfrozen for a total of what, a day? If that? And you’re stuck on a ship with one of the people who helped do this to you in the first place.” Her thumb is trailing back and forth across the back of his hand. It’s soothing, in its own way, and Han struggles to focus on that and on what Leia’s saying instead of the rising, uncontrolled feelings of panic. “I’d say you’re coping just fine,” she adds, and though Han’s not so sure, he wants to take her word for it.

They sit there like that for several moments, silently commiserating while Han desperately tries to get his act together, before Leia nods to herself, as if she’s come to some kind of decision. “Right,” she says. “You need to eat something."

Han blinks at her, as if her words haven’t quite registered. When they sink in, he starts shaking his head. “I’m really not hungry,” he protests, and he’s not lying- the thought of eating something now makes his stomach turn, but Leia’s already rummaging through one of the cabinets, making unimpressed sounds.

“Really, Han? Nerf jerky and old ration bars?"

“Hey, don’t look at me,” Han shrugs, one finger picking listlessly at the dejarik table. “I haven’t done the grocery shopping around here in a while, if you’ll recall."

“Except I flew with you before all of this happened,” Leia retorts, “and the culinary situation wasn’t any better then.” She pauses. “It may have actually been _worse_ , if that’s possible.” Finally giving up on finding any better options, she tosses a ration bar and a packet of jerky in front of Han. “Take your choice,” she advises him, “but you have to eat something. And I know they didn’t feed you anything at Jabba’s palace, so don’t waste your breath."

Han can’t help but huff out a laugh that’s equal parts resigned and grudgingly impressed. He really can’t think of anything he’s less interested in than eating, but he knows full well that Leia’s going to sit there and give him a hard time until he caves, so he reaches for the ration bar and opens the wrapper, dutifully taking a bite, grimacing as he starts chewing. “It tastes like sawdust,” he grumbles through a mouthful of ration bar, and Leia shrugs, wholly unsympathetic.

“Seems to me you have no one to blame for that but yourself, hotshot,” she says, but then she frowns slightly. She’d eaten one of those ration bars a couple of days ago, and while it hardly qualified as fine dining, there had been _some_  taste to it, and it hadn’t been all that awful. “Hang on- try some of the jerky,” she says, tearing open the packet and handing some to Han. He gives her a confused look, but does as she asks, shrugging as he chews.

“Sawdust,” he confirms, then frowns. Nerf jerky isn’t anything earth shattering, but it usually has taste to it, at least. Looking over at Leia, Han sees that her brow is furrowed, and she reaches for a piece of jerky herself, her frown deepening as she realizes that she can taste the jerky just fine..

Leia stares at Han for a moment before saying, “The freezing. I think the freezing may have dampened your sense of taste."

Han stares at her, horrified. “What- forever?"

“No- at least… I don’t think so. It’s probably like your eyes- it should wear off eventually."

He wants to ask her _how_  eventually, exactly, and his mouth is actually open to do just that, but he abruptly closes it, sagging back in his seat as he reminds himself that Leia doesn’t know all that much more about the effects of carbon freezing than he does. _At least you’ve mostly got your eyes back_ , he reminds himself. _You would have been useless to anyone blind_. Still, Han wants back _everything_  that Vader took from him, not just bits and pieces. Morosely, he takes another bite of the tasteless ration bar, wondering again why he didn’t just throw Lando out the nearest airlock.

“You know,” Leia says, eating a ration bar of her own now, “you might actually be better off not tasting this. I think it dates back to before the Battle of Yavin."

Han’s gaze jerks up to Leia’s face, and for a moment she stares back at him, utterly serious, before a giggle breaks through in spite of the whole, depressing situation. He’s flummoxed for a second, but her laughing sets him off, and he shakes his head as they both sit there, giggling like a couple of idiots. He doesn’t admit it to himself often, and he admits it to Leia even less, but he really doesn’t know what he’d do without her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, I have to admit that I didn't really set out to rewrite _Return of the Jedi_ , but it looks like that's what's happening. Thanks again to everyone who's stuck with this and commented and left kudos- the response I've gotten has been really heartening and motivational! As always, comments are highly encouraged and very welcome.
> 
> Apologies that this chapter was a bit longer in coming- I'm in the midst of an international move, which has put a bit of a crimp in my writing time. But the moving part should be out of the way in another couple of weeks, and then I should have more time to work on this.

Han spends the remainder of their trip to Sullust alternately sleeping and eating, largely at Leia’s insistence, though that first ration bar seemed to unlock some kind of desperate appetite, and he’s suddenly starving, whether he can taste the food or not. He’s less enthused about the sleeping part of the equation, never knowing what he’s going to see when he closes his eyes (except that it will most likely be something horrible), but he can’t seem to help himself- even short bouts of relatively low-key activity leave him feeling exhausted, and while it worries Han, Leia takes it in her stride, telling him to stop being silly, listen to his body and rest, already. This draws a certain amount of grumbling that he’s spent the past year “resting,” and he doesn’t feel like wasting any more of his time, thanks very much, but he’s still so wrung out by everything that they’re largely token protests, and he ends up spending an inordinate amount of time napping. 

He and Leia have taken over from Chewie and Lando to give the others a chance to get some sleep, and they're sitting up in the cockpit in silence, each wrapped up in their own thoughts. Han can feel Leia looking at him, and he shifts slightly in his seat, not wanting to let his discomfort show. The re-gen patches seem to have reached their maximum usefulness, but his ribs still ache, and he’s acutely aware of the network of burns and sores crisscrossing his chest, which decided to make their presence known shortly after the first dose of nyex wore off. Finally, though, he glances over at her and asks, “What?"

Leia flushes, feeling a bit silly at being caught staring at him again, but she can’t help it. She can still barely believe that he’s there with her at all, let alone in mostly-functional condition, even if he is somewhat the worse for wear. Still, she knows him well, even after all that time apart, and her eyes narrow at the way he moves in his chair. “Are you all right?” 

“Sure. Never better.” Well, that’s an obvious lie, and they both know it, but Han really doesn’t feel like talking about injuries that they’re powerless to treat any further until they get to the rendezvous point, anyway. Especially not the burns.

Leia considers prodding him to tell her what’s on his mind, but she decides not to press him on it, at least not right now. Instead, she reaches across the space between their chairs and takes his hand, giving it a squeeze. That’s all it takes for Han’s expression to soften, and he looks over at her for a moment before quietly saying, “Thanks,” and squeezing her hand back.

She can tell that he’s hurting, and she wishes that he’d just take some more painkillers and lie down somewhere, but Leia knows that that’s not really Han’s style, and it’s been something of a miracle that he’s allowed himself to be hovered over and looked after as much as he has. He was insistent that he take over at the controls for a while so that the others could get some rest, though she suspects that that had as much to do with him not trusting Lando a bit than with actually caring whether the other man got any sleep. For her part, Leia wasn’t interested in being anywhere that Han wasn’t, so she volunteered to take the copilot’s seat.

They sit there in companionable silence for a few more minutes, listening to the hum of the ship’s engines, before Han speaks. “What are you going to do with him?"

Leia doesn’t need to ask who he means, but she glances over at him anyway, confirming, “Lando?” and feeling unsurprised when he nods. She sighs. “I’m still not sure, if you want the honest answer.” She’s been thinking about it ever since they found Han, and despite her usual talent for managing delicate personnel issues, she hasn’t come to any useful conclusions at all. A part of her wants to keep Lando as close as possible, the better to keep an eye on him, but Leia wants Han nearby far more, and seeing the way he’s been on this journey to Sullust, she knows that she can’t really ask him not only to potentially wade back into combat with her, but to do it with Lando Calrissian along for the ride. It would be too much for him- too much for _anyone_  in his situation. But sending Lando off with orders to do… something… doesn’t feel entirely safe, either. Leia thinks he’s fully on board with the Rebellion, at this point, if only because the Empire will likely execute him if they catch him after what he pulled at Cloud City, but the idea of trusting him with anything important makes her stomach twist with anxiety.

“I’m open to suggestions,” she says with a wry expression, and Han shakes his head.

“You don’t wanna hear my suggestion, Princess."

Leia grows serious at that and looks at him until he reluctantly catches her eye. “You know I don’t blame you for feeling that way, right?” she asks quietly, and he shrugs slightly.

“Yeah,” he acknowledges, “but wanting to flush someone I used to consider a friend out the nearest airlock don’t make me feel especially good."

“Why, Han Solo,” Leia chips back, feigning shock, “is that a  _conscience_  I detect?” She jokes because she’s not entirely sure of how or whether to unpack the deeper implications of some of the things he’s said about Lando- it’s hard to tell whether Han wants to discuss it or not.

Han snorts. “Probably just hibernation sickness,” he mutters. “Or hanging around you and Tatooine’s most earnest farm boy for too long.” Even as he says that, though, he knows it’s not entirely true. Han’s always had a bit more of a conscience than he cared to admit- it was why he went back to try and help Luke at Yavin, after all. And it’s why he can’t quite bring himself to leave Lando floating in space now, even if it probably would be the smartest way to handle things.

Leia’s holding his hand again now, and he can feel her thumb rubbing back and forth. He looks over at her and attempts some approximation of his usual grin. “Maybe you should just make him a general or something. Easier to keep an eye on him that way."

 

* * *

 

“… You made him a _general_?!” Han is incredulous, wondering as he looks at Leia if she’s completely lost her mind. 

“What? You suggested it!” Leia is indignant and unapologetic, which doesn’t surprise Han much, but he still can’t begin to fathom what she could have been thinking.

“I was joking! And besides, when have you ever done _anything_  I suggested?"

Leia’s eyes roll so hard at that, Han has to resist the urge to tell her to be careful, or she’ll dislocate something. But when she actually starts explaining what she was thinking, he has to admit, however grudgingly, that she might have a point. “I was thinking about what you said,” she begins, “on the way here. I know you were joking, but the more I thought it over, the more it made sense- he _will_  be easier to keep an eye on this way. And he can hardly go running back to try to patch things up with Darth Vader if he’s a ranking general for the Rebellion, can he?"

As quickly as they flared up, Han’s doubts vanish, and he stares at her for a moment, blinking before his face breaks into a broad smile. “I love it when you get all devious,” he tells her, moving closer and slipping his arms about her waist, and he can feel her grin as he leans down and kisses her.

“Yes, well,” she informs him airily before leaning up to plant a kiss along his jawline, “some of it was bound to rub off, spending so much time on the Falcon.” One hand goes to smooth over his chest, but Han flinches, looking suddenly uncomfortable, and she frowns. “What’s wrong?"

“Nothing,” he says quickly, “I just-"

But Leia already knows, or thinks she does. “Is your chest still bothering you? They should have fixed it in medical.” They’d arrived at the rendezvous point a couple of hours ago, and she’d bundled Han off to the infirmary almost immediately, much to his chagrin. She’s already gearing up to march down there and have a word with whoever it was that saw him. “I’ll just go do-"

“Leia, please!” Han cuts her off, agitation making his tone sharp. Leia's surprised and a little hurt, and he frowns, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck as he searches for a way to explain. “It wasn’t their fault, okay?” he says finally. “It was mine. I couldn’t- I didn’t want anyone….” He’s not sure he can actually get the words out, and he can’t look at her, his eyes fixed studiously on the floor. “They fixed my ribs, they checked out my eyes, they made sure I wasn’t going to just drop dead all of a sudden. That was enough. I didn’t need ‘em messing with- with _that_ , too.” Han carefully omits the part where he was on the verge of a panic attack when he finally left, shrugging off the doctors’ and nurses’ concern and lying that he had an important meeting to get to. It was too much- all of the poking and prodding and instruments had been entirely too much, and all he knew was that he had to get out of there. He’d retreated to his quarters on the Millennium Falcon and had been in the midst of trying to calm himself down when Leia walked in and announced that she’d given Lando a general’s commission, of all things.

For a long moment, Leia can only look at him, not quite knowing what to say. She’s never seen Han like this before, and while she’d love to prod him into talking to her- or someone else, even, if that would help- she knows that that won’t work. He’ll come to her when he’s ready, and not before. Finally, she reaches and takes one of his hands, holding it in both of her own. “You can look at me, you know,” she says softly. “You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about, Han. Not with me.” Reluctantly, he lifts his gaze, and she sighs, gathering up her courage before admitting, “I can’t stand needles. They didn’t bother me, before, but ever since….” _Ever since Vader_ , she wants to say, but her voice fails her, and the words won’t come. It doesn’t matter, though, because Han knows, and he pulls her into his arms.

“We’re quite a pair,” he mutters, and she chuckles humorlessly, because he’s right. They’ve never discussed it, because they never really had time before, and they don’t really have time now, but they’re a couple of damaged people, hanging on for dear life, and it terrifies Leia, needing someone this badly.

 

* * *

 

It’s the next day that General Madine approaches Han and asks him about leading the strike force to Endor. Han’s first reaction is to refuse- beyond the fact that he very much doubts that he’s at all qualified to lead a ground force of pathfinders to shut down the shield generator protecting the Empire’s new and improved Death Star, he isn’t wholly certain that he won’t either collapse into a quivering, terrified mess or panic and run, screaming, from any enemies they encounter. But Crix Madine is a Corellian, too, and Han doesn’t feel like he can really turn the other man down- not and still save face, anyway. How do you tell someone “no” when they’re calling you “General,” telling you they’ve given you a commission and asking you to lead their troops into battle? For all the fuss he makes about being out for number one, Han doesn’t think he can say “no” to this. So he accepts, trying to keep the dubiousness out of his expression, and wonders just how he’s going to break this bit of news to Leia. 

He tries to tell her at least three different times, fully aware that she’s likely to object on all kinds of reasonable grounds, ranging from the fact that he’s currently a nervous wreck to the very likely possibility that he’s going to get himself killed, doing this. But every time Han opens his mouth to bring it up, his chest tightens and he can feel the panic clawing its way into his throat, keeping him from saying anything useful at all. Leia notices that he seems on edge, even moreso than he was to begin with after they escaped Jabba’s palace, but she doesn’t ask him about it, inclined to chalk it up to everything that he’s been through and resolving to deal with it when they have more privacy and time.

By the time Han thinks he might have worked up the nerve to have that particular conversation, they’re about to have the mission briefing. _This should go well_ , he thinks morosely as he walks into the briefing room, looking up just in time to see Lando standing in front of him. There’s a split second where he freezes, fighting to keep from glaring at the other man, knowing that this isn’t the time or the place to have to explain things to anyone, and Han forces an insincere grin onto his face, glancing pointedly at Lando’s shiny new rank insignia. “Well, look at you,” he says with a friendliness he doesn’t feel at all, “a general, huh?"

Lando won’t quite look him in the eye, but he puts on his usual, charming show, just the same. “Someone must’ve told them about my little maneuver at the Battle of Tanaab,” he replies, feigning modesty, and Han thinks about how much he’d love to punch that smug face.

Instead, he shrugs. “Well, don’t look at me, _pal_ \- I just said you were a fair pilot. I didn’t know they were looking for somebody to lead this crazy attack.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t ask you to do it."

Han sits down next to Chewie, thinking that they need to end this conversation and end it quickly. He doesn’t think he can keep the facade up much longer. “Well, who says they didn’t? But I ain’t crazy,” he shoots back, thinking as he speaks that he would have to be crazy, crazy to have agreed to his part in the upcoming battle and even crazier to be having this conversation with Lando as if nothing had happened between them at all. Opting to get in a little dig, Han adds, “You’re the respectable one, remember?” He smiles as he says it, but there’s a hardness in his eyes as he meets Lando’s gaze that’s enough to make Lando break off the conversation and studiously turn his attention to the center of the room. Han is infinitely relieved when Leia comes to sit next to him, giving him something else to think about, however temporarily. Before he can say anything to her, the briefing starts.

Leia doesn’t miss the last of Han’s encounter with Lando, and she resists the urge to take his hand or offer some other visible show of support as she sits down. _It’s not appropriate_ , she tells herself. _You need to focus on the attack._  But she presses up next to him, just slightly, just to remind him- and herself- that they’re both there together. Han fidgets next to her as the briefing starts, and when Lando’s role in the attack is mentioned, he snipes, “Good luck- you’re gonna need it.” Leia shoots him a sidelong glance that tries to be disapproving but doesn’t quite manage it.

When Madine starts talking about the stolen cruiser, Han can’t decide whether he feels like he’s going to have a panic attack or like he’s ready to jump in the cruiser alone and take on the entire Imperial fleet. He’s starting to suspect that this whole thing will turn out to be a suicide mission, but it’s too late to back down now. Dimly, he hears C3PO comment that it “sounds dangerous,” managing to understate the reality of the situation for probably the first time since Han’s known him.

Leia leans in closer, murmuring, “I wonder who they found to pull that off,” and Han’s sure that the flush he feels crawling up his neck has made him go bright red, enough for the whole briefing room to see. He opens his mouth to try and give her some kind of a heads up, however last minute it would be, but  Madine isn’t wasting any time, and it’s too late.

“General Solo? Is your strike team assembled?"

He can feel Leia’s shocked gaze on him, doesn’t need to look to know that there’s obvious concern in it, and suspects he’ll be hearing about this stunt for years, assuming they live that long, but he says only, “Uh, my team’s ready, but I don’t have a command crew for the shuttle.” Next to him, Chewie rumbles his insistence that he’s not going to be left behind, thank you _very_  much, and Han turns, an apology in his tone as he says, “It’s gonna be rough, pal- I didn’t want to speak for you.” But Chewie insists, and then Leia’s speaking up, too.

“General?” The way her eyes twinkle as she says that makes Han grin in spite of himself. “Count me in."

“I’m with you, too!"

Both Han and Leia startle at the familiar voice behind them, and Han blinks as he sees Luke coming down the stairs of the briefing room. Dimly, the memories clouded by shock and hibernation sickness, Han recalled Luke saying that he had to take care of some things, but promising he’d be back, but Han hadn’t been entirely convinced that he’d ever see the younger man again. It’s a relief to see him now, though, makes things feel almost like old times, like he’s still the same man he was in that cantina in Mos Eisley, even though he knows he’s not, and he knows that Luke’s not the same, naive farm boy he once was, either.

The briefing breaks up, and everyone starts going their separate ways to prepare for the mission. Leia slips an arm around Han’s waist as they leave the briefing room, and Han drapes his arm over her shoulders. Luke walks alongside them, eying them both for a moment before asking, “How are you, Han?” He pauses, then grins. “You look better than the last time I saw you."

“That’s a pretty low bar to clear, kid,” Han replies, though there’s a tense edge to his voice. He doesn’t want to talk about this. Not now. Maybe not ever, at least not with Luke. He doesn’t want to face the uncomfortable implications of why Vader tortured him, froze him in carbonite- not because of any value Han might have had on his own, but purely as a way to get to Luke. It represents a shift in their relationship that doesn’t leave Han feeling comfortable at all, and as with so many things that trouble him, he’d prefer to ignore it if he can. So all he says is, “I’m fine- fully recovered.” He refuses to acknowledge the way his chest throbs dully as he says that, but he feels Leia’s arm tighten around his waist momentarily, and he knows she’s onto him.

Luke is skeptical, just looks at him for a long moment, and Han guesses at what he’s doing, turning to him and snapping, “ _Don’t._ "

“Don’t what?” Suddenly the younger man is all innocence, and Han is torn between being infuriated and wanting to laugh at how ridiculous it is, a Jedi knight still acting like everyone’s little brother. But being glad to have Luke back doesn’t mean being okay with all of the weird mind reading stuff.

“Don’t start trying that Jedi mind probing shit with me, kid. I’m not in the mood for it today.” _Or ever._  Han has been turning it over in his mind since he came out of the carbonite, the understanding that Vader had been torturing him purely to send his pain out into the universe, knowing that Luke would feel it. He’d heard all the stories, of course, that Jedi could read people’s minds, take over and make them do things, but he’d never really believed them. Now, though, he wonders, and the thought of Luke- or anyone else- interfering with his mind that way makes his skin crawl.

The intensity in Han’s tone is enough that Leia draws to a stop, looking from him to Luke and back again before smoothing a hand over his shoulder, running it up his neck to his cheek and tugging on him until he looks at her. “Hey,” she says quietly, shooting Luke a warning glance that’s enough to tell him to back off. “Everything okay?” She can feel the tension thrumming through him, and it’s clear that everything isn’t okay, really, but she doesn’t expect that to change much until all of this insanity is over, and they actually have some time to themselves.

Han sucks in a breath and lets it out slowly. “Yeah,” he replies after a moment. “Yeah- everything’s fine.” He feels like he should apologize to Luke, but at the same time, he resists the urge. He doesn’t care how good a friend Luke is- that doesn’t give him the right to start digging around in his head. Han’s experience with the Force, such as it was, has left him angry and raw, and the idea of his friend, this kid, really, transforming into anything even remotely as powerful as Darth Vader scares him a little. He shrugs off the thought and starts walking again, gratified that Luke and Leia follow. “C’mon,” he says, trying to sound like his old self, “we need to get ready to go."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the next chapter. Just a short one this time, but I'll work on the next chapter over the weekend. Keep the comments coming- they're always appreciated!

Han is holed up in his cabin on the Falcon, reviewing the control schematics for the Imperial shuttle they were going to be using. He's confident in his ability to fly just about anything, but still, it doesn't hurt to be prepared, and there’s a niggling fear in the back of his mind that maybe he’s rusty, maybe being trapped in that carbonite for so long had dulled his reflexes or something. There isn’t much time before they have to head out, and Han feels like he’s cramming for the Imperial Academy exams again. 

He startles at the sound of the door opening, smiling in greeting when he sees Leia, though he notices that she doesn’t look especially happy to see him. “What’s wrong?" 

“I need to ask you a favor.” Leia dispenses with any preamble, wanting to get this conversation over with as quickly as possible.

Han shrugs, looking confused. He thought Leia understood by now that he’d do just about anything for her, even if he doesn’t make a habit of saying so for fear of destroying his reputation as a scoundrel. “Sure,” he assures her, shifting to sit up in his bunk and give her his full attention. “I told you I owe you one, didn’t I?” The fact of the matter is that he owes her everything, really, and he knows it.

Leia worries her bottom lip between her teeth. She knows that this isn’t going to go well, but she doesn’t think she has any choice but to ask him. “I- we need the Millennium Falcon,” she says finally, “for the fleet that will be attacking the Death Star."

Now Han looks even more confused. “Leia, I’d be happy to, but I’m already supposed to be flying that Imperial shuttle, and I can’t be in two pl-"

“No,” Leia cuts him off, having to resist the urge to stare down at the floor, but she thinks she at least owes him the courtesy of looking him in the eye when she asks him for this. “No, Han, I- they….” She pauses to take a deep breath before explaining, “They want Lando to fly it."

Han’s eyes jerk up to her face, and for a second, he’s sure that she must be joking- there’s no way she’d seriously ask him for this, not after everything that’s happened, but it’s abundantly clear that she _is_  serious, as serious as a heart attack, and for a moment, he’s rendered completely speechless. Leia knows that the Millennium Falcon his his baby, that he dotes on his ship the way some people do their kids, that at this point, it’s the only reassurance he really has that he’s still at least somewhat independent from this whole Rebel Alliance thing, that he has the option to leave if he really wants to, even if he knows he won’t. It’s his escape hatch, and Leia’s asking him to give it up- not just give it up, give it to _Lando_ , a person that Han can hardly stand to lay his eyes on right now.

“ _Lando_?” he repeats disbelievingly, before he can censor himself. “You want me to- Leia, you can’t be serious.” He’s still holding out some shred of hope that this is an elaborate joke, but he knows it’s not.

“Han, this isn’t something I would ask you as just- just some kind of a joke,” Leia replies quietly. “I know what this ship means to you."

“But here you are, asking me to turn it over to Lando."

“Do you think I would be asking if it weren’t important?” Leia shoots back, her tone sharper than she’d intended it to be. She’d tried to push back against asking this of Han in the first place, hating the idea that he might think she was trying to emotionally blackmail him into giving up his ship, even temporarily, or call in favors for coming and finding him on Tatooine. “It’s the fastest ship in the fleet, it’s distinctive-looking enough to make it easier for everyone else in the fleet to see where Lando is, and Lando’s flown it before, so he’s familiar with how the ship handles. And- and we need every ship we can get our hands on right about now."

Han opens his mouth to respond, then closes it again and looks down at the floor. _You owe her_ , he thinks resignedly. _You owe her everything._ _She almost ended up one of Jabba’s slave girls for you._ _If it wasn’t for her, you’d still be hanging on Jabba’s wall right now_. The thought makes him shudder. “I hate this,” he says finally, his voice very low. “I hate the idea of that smarmy bastard flying my ship, and I hate that you’re asking me to give it to him.” The words fall into the silence between them like a stone, and he can feel Leia looking at him, knows that she’s trying to formulate some kind of a response, and he sighs, shoulders sagging. He never could refuse her much of anything, anyway. “But I can’t tell you ‘no,’ not after….” Han trails off, not quite able to bring himself to elaborate. "If Lando- if _you_  need the Falcon that badly,” he corrects himself pointedly, "then I guess she’s yours."

Leia hates the feeling that she’s emotionally blackmailing him, even if it’s not intentional, and she really wouldn’t hold it against him if he refused- not entirely, anyway. She’d balked at asking him at all, but really, the Falcon won't matter much anyway if this assault fails. Or that was how she’d reasoned it out to herself. Leia knows full well that aside from being Han’s home, his ship is everything to him, and she doesn’t know what she’ll say if anything happens to it. All she can think of now is, “If- if anything happens to it, the Rebellion will cover the costs. Or buy you a new ship, if it comes to that."

The look on Han’s face makes it abundantly clear that she’s missing the point. “I don’t want a new ship,” he replies impatiently, trying not to think about how much he probably sounds like a petulant youngling. “It’s not about that.” It really isn’t. But complaining about it isn’t going to help anyone, and he heaves a sigh. “Look, it doesn’t matter. I said I’d give you the Falcon if you need it, and if that means that Lando’s flying it, well… I’ll just have to deal with it."

Leia walks over to Han’s bunk and sits down next to him, looking at him for a moment before reaching to brush at the hair falling over his forehead. “I would never ask something like this of you if it weren’t important,” she tells him quietly, and he nods slightly, though he won’t quite look at her.

“I know,” he answers, his voice just as quiet. “’S why I’m agreeing to hand her over.” Leia leans up and kisses his cheek at that before casting a curious gaze down at Han’s reading material.

“What are you doing hiding away in here, anyway?"

“I’m not _hiding_ ,” Han retorts, thinking as he says it that he sounds too defensive by half. He brandishes the control schematics. “Just… brushing up on a few things.” He pauses, looking uncomfortable as he admits, “I feel a little rusty."

“It’ll be fine,” Leia reassures him, rubbing his back, trying to get him to let go of some of the tension he’s been holding onto since they made it off Tatooine. While she understands it, she also knows that it won’t help with the mission. “You were fine on the way here,” she offers, “piloting- I didn’t notice anything different."

Han shrugs stiffly, grateful for her efforts but largely unconvinced. “I guess,” he says dubiously. “That was a little less risky than what we’re talking about doing here, though.” He doesn’t think he can tell her that the thought of flying this shuttle right into Vader’s back yard seems like a worse and worse idea the more he thinks of it. Not without Leia either trying to convince him to let someone else go or spending the rest of the mission distracted, worrying about him. Han glances at the wall chrono and sees that it’s nearly time for them to start doing preflight checks. “We’d better go,” he says, hopping up from his bunk, unsure of whether he’s relieved to have an excuse to forestall any more questions about his emotional state or on the verge of a nervous breakdown at the prospect of flying practically into the waiting arms of the man who tortured him and froze him in carbonite. As if sensing his thoughts, Leia reaches for his hand and gives it a quick squeeze, although she refrains from telling him again that they would be all right, half afraid that saying it too many times would jinx them, somehow.

 

* * *

 

“Look, I _want_  you to take her. I mean it- take her!” _I should have just let Leia tell him,_  Han thinks, disbelieving that after that whole conversation with Leia, he’s now having to practically beg Lando to take the Falcon in the first place. The forced cordiality in his tone degrades further at the thought, and his tone sharpens. “You need all the help you can get- she’s the fastest ship in the fleet!” Before he can really get going in a proper rant, Lando cuts him off.

“All right, old buddy,” he says placatingly, and Han swears he can feel his blood pressure rising. “I know what she means to you,” he continues. “She won’t get a scratch, all right?"

_Yeah, you know what she means to me because you just spent a year flying her_ , Han thinks bitterly, reflexively glancing over at the Falcon’s hulking form. But neither of them has time for this, not now, and all he says is, “Right.” He turns and starts to walk toward the shuttle, but something makes him turn back around. “I’ve got your promise?” he asks, only thinking after he’s spoken how laughable that sounds, as if Lando’s promise would be worth anything, anyway. So he adds, “Not a scratch?"

“Would you get going, you pirate!” Lando waves him off, though he does add, “Good luck,” a sentiment that Han can’t quite help returning. He can barely stand to be in Lando’s presence at the moment, but somehow wishing death on the guy at a time like this feels wrong in a way that Han can’t quite put his finger on. _If anyone’s going to choke the life out of him, it ought to be me, not Vader or some Imperial pilot_ , he decides after a moment before turning and walking towards the shuttle.

Chewie’s grumbling as Han climbs into the pilot’s seat, demanding to know how anyone of any reasonable size can even _fit_  in this ridiculous ship, never mind the absurd control scheme in use. “Yeah, well, I don’t think the Empire had Wookies in mind when they designed her, Chewie,” he replies, thankful for even a brief diversion from the creeping feeling of nausea he suddenly has. But as Han glances up from his own preflight preparations, he sees the Millennium Falcon across the hangar bay, and he can’t quite tear his eyes away. _It was a mistake_ , he thinks, _giving her to Lando. This won’t end well._

“Hey, are you awake?” Han jumps slightly when someone puts their hand on his shoulder, then becomes aware of Leia leaning over his shoulder. He glances over at her, trying to offer a reassuring smile and failing utterly. He feels miserable, flying away in an enemy ship and leaving the Falcon with Lando.

“Yeah,” he says finally, “I just got a funny feeling. Like I’m not gonna see her again."

Leia squeezes Han’s shoulder sympathetically. She knows what it’s costing him to do this, but she’s proud of him for going through with it. She’d half expected him to change his mind between the Falcon and the shuttle, go running back and tell Lando to get the hell off his ship. “C’mon, General,” she says quietly, “let’s move."

“Right.” Han forces himself to shake off the feelings of foreboding and turns to his copilot. “Chewie, let’s see what this piece of junk can do."


End file.
